You Can Never Be Sure
by Amory Sparkly Bat
Summary: When Neal receives an anonymous note that tears him apart, everyone at the office becomes a suspect.


**Title: **You Can Never Be sure  
**Author: **Amory Puck (**pucktheplayer**)  
**Pairings: **gen  
**Rating:** PG  
**Warnings: **h/c

**Author's Note:** Based on a time in my life where my family went through this. Except this has a happy ending and our story didn't. Fills nausea square on h/c bingo.

o o o  
**You Can Never Be Sure**

o o o

"Another win for the terrible two," Peter said, holding a hand up for Neal to slap. "Up top, man."

Neal laughed, high fiving his friend as he tossed his hat onto his desk. "We make a good pair."

Peter flashed him a grin. "I think so too."

Neal smiled as he watched the man head off to his office, then dropped down into his chair, shuffling through the files on his desk. Mayburn, Jacob—check. Leonard, Frank—oh yeah. Hamley, Harriet—badaboom. They really were the terrible two, plowing through cases right and left.

An envelope fell out of his inbox as he tossed the files to the side and Neal frowned, pulling it out and inspecting it. Definitely not FBI issue, unless the FBI now liked their mail to be slightly oversized and cream colored. Honestly, it looked more like something a Christmas card would come in than casework.

Neal shrugged and grabbed his letter opener, slicing it open and pulling out the paper inside. It wasn't nearly as pretentious as the envelope, in fact, it was just a piece of notebook paper, college ruled, obviously ripped from a spiral binder. Hm. His curiosity was officially piqued. Maybe there was an office treasure hunt. That would be cool.

Unfolding it carefully, Neal paused to smooth it out a little before lifting it up to read.

_Dear Caffrey,_

I smiled at you today. I joked with you and laughed with you and treated you like a friend. I've even comforted you before. But inside, I hate you. You'll never be anything but a criminal and a loser in my eyes, no matter how many so called "wins" you get. You'd never know that I'm not your friend. Remember that next time you laugh with someone.

Neal's stomach twisted at the words, heart speeding up just a little as he stared down at the note in disbelief. There was no signature, and it was written in a careful block print that told nothing about the person's handwriting.

What the hell was going on here?

Neal dropped the paper like it had burned him, letting it drift slowly back to the desk. He sat up straight in his chair, gripping the arm rests tightly, as he tried to convince the sick feeling growing in his stomach that all was a-okay.

Whoever had written that note was obviously just being an asshole, so it didn't matter. Who cared what some anonymous jerk thought of him? Except… except it had said that they'd laughed together just today. Which meant this anonymous jerk was actually his friend. Or someone he thought was his friend.

The sickness was full force now, sweat was beading up behind his neck, and Neal had to swallow multiple times to wet his dry mouth. His eyes drifted the room, and he tried his best to fight the strange mixture of sadness and confusion and humiliation as his mind raced calculate who had smiled at him today.

There was Diana, holding a cup of coffee with one hand and beating the copier into submission with the other. She was a good person, Diana. She wouldn't do something like this. Would she? She was a good actress, that was for sure. If she hadn't been so by the book then she would have made a good conman, and she had made it clear more than once that she disapproved of Neal's somewhat creative ways of getting things done—especially when then ended up putting Peter at risk.

Just this morning she had teased Neal that he was gonna be Peter's downfall, slapping him playfully on the arm and laughing with him. But maybe the joke was actually *on* him.

Neal's brow furrowed up in concentration as he did his best to recall her face, trying to remember if the laughter had reached her eyes, making little crinkles around them, but he wasn't sure.

Jones chose that moment to walk by, yanking Neal's attention away from Diana. Jones… He could have done this. Of all the people on Peter's team, he trusted Neal the least. But Jones was a man's man, a real up front kind of guy. If he had a problem with Neal, he'd just punch him in the face, wouldn't he? Except for all his frat boy appeal, Jones was a Harvard grad, and you had to know how to play with fire to get into that place. The big block letters on the note implied a level of masculinity that Jones certainly possessed, but the print could also have been intended to throw him off.

Who else had Neal laughed with today? Other than Jones and Diana, the only person Neal could come up with was…

His eyes shifted slowly up toward Peter's office, heart pounding rapidly. No way. There was no chance. Peter would never… Except…

_You'd never guess that I'm not your friend._

The words seemed to echo in Neal's mind, and he had to bite his lip to hold back the tears rising up in his eyes.

"Hey, Neal, you okay? You look pale."

Neal started, jumping a little in his seat as Diana smiled down at him. He surreptitiously dropped a file on top of the paper, pushing it off to the side.

"Uh, yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Neal said, forcing himself to smile. "Glad to have solved another case."

"Yeah, you always get 'em done, whatever it takes," the woman replied, and Neal's stomach turned again.

What did she mean by that? Was she implying that Neal was a loose cannon? That he worked outside of the law whenever he wanted to? That he was a criminal and a loser? Neal began to tap his foot nervously, knee bobbing rapidly.

"Yeah," he replied after a somewhat awkward pause, the words coming out a little hoarse. "You know I try."

"Hey, Caffrey," Jones said as he walked up, joining the group. "Peter wants you in his office." He flashed Neal a grin. "Guess he's got another one already for our favorite criminal." The words were teasing, friendly even, and both Diana and Jones chuckled, but Neal's fake smile faded away completely and his shoulders tightened.

"Okay," he muttered, feeling a little light headed as he stood up. "I'll, uh, just go, okay?"

Jones looked at him with concern. "You okay, Caffrey? Did something upset you?"

Neal froze at the words, his whole body going stiff as he eyed the other man. Jones' tone had been innocent, but that didn't mean anything. The person behind the note had made it very clear they were good at hiding their real intentions.

Finally, Neal shook his head and sort of marched off toward Peter's office. It wasn't like there was anything he could do, even if it was Jones. Not without revealing the note to everyone, and it hurt way too much for that. The last thing he wanted was for everybody to know there was someone out there who thought so little of Neal that they would send him a letter like that, leaving him helpless and confused.

God, he wished his pulse would slow down a little, but his heart hurt, and when your heart hurt, your blood began to pound. Neal was sure his face was as red as a tomato by now, and his eyes were stinging, but he did his best to collect himself before he tugged open the door to Peter's office, pasting a big smile on his face.

"Hey, Peter," he said, hoping he sounded normal. "What's up? Got another case already?"

"Nah," Peter said, waving a hand. "I think we've earned ourselves the rest of the day off. I just wanted to know if you wanted to come and have dinner with El and I tonight."

Honestly, Neal just wanted to go home, curl up on the couch with a glass of wine, and angst over which of his friends wasn't really a friend at all. If it was one person, that is. For all he knew, the 'I' could have been a plural reference, well disguised. This person was obviously very good at disguise. The conman in Neal, however, grasped the opportunity almost instantly. That envelope was definitely not from the office, which meant it came from someone's home. If he went over to Peter's, he might have the chance to slip in the man's office and look. Then, if it was Peter, he'd know for sure. If not, well, at least he'd know it wasn't Peter.

It was a stupid plan, especially since he was almost entirely sure it hadn't been Peter who wrote the note, but after just a few minutes the words were already eating at him, gnawing endlessly at the back of the mind, and he didn't think he'd be able to rest anytime soon. Not until he found out who had written the note and why they had felt the need to do so.

"Sounds great," Neal said, smiling tightly. "Six o'clock?"

o o o

"I heard you solved another case today, Neal!" El said brightly as she smiled from across the table.

Neal returned her big grin with a tiny one of his own. There was no way that it reached his eyes, but he couldn't focus enough to fake it. His mind was too preoccupied with confusion and second guessing and hurt. "Yeah," he said in answer to her question, poking at his potatoes with a fork. "We did. Got him good."

"It was fantastic work, and I couldn't have done it without Neal," Peter said, reaching out and patting his shoulder. Neal had to grit his teeth to keep from flinching away. He couldn't take his feelings out on Peter, not unless he knew for sure it was him, but at this point it was impossible to trust anyone. God, he felt like he was back in goddamn prison, minus the imminent threat of getting jumped in the shower.

Or maybe back in junior high was a better analogy, when the kids would whisper behind your back and you had no idea what was going on. Honestly, Neal would prefer prison. Junior high seriously sucked.

"I, um, have to go to the bathroom," Neal said, dropping his fork and standing abruptly. "I'll be right back."

Apparently his little announcement hadn't been the essence of smooth, because both Peter and El looked at him strangely. God, he was better than this! He was a conman, dammit! But it was hard to con with a lump in your stomach like the one he had. It was almost making him feel nauseous, and he couldn't help but wonder what he had done.

He must have done something, right? People didn't just send letters like that for the fun of it. Neal had made this job his life, and the last the thing he wanted was trouble with his co-workers. He went out of his way to be nice, or he thought he did. But obviously he'd done something to anger someone at some point. The problem was, there was no way for him to fix it. He had no idea who had sent the letter, so there was nothing he could do but simmer in the realization that someone out there didn't want him around, and that he didn't even know who or why.

Neal quietly climbed the stairs, slipping into Peter's study. He moved over to the desk, yanking open random drawers and sifting through them as quickly as possible. No envelopes yet, but… Neal's shoulders tightened as he slowly lifted up a green spiral notebook. It was college ruled, just like the note.

Neal pulled the note out of his pocket and unfolded it, opening the spiral notebook to compare. The note had received a lot of punishment today, from being wrinkled up and hurled into the trash to being sprinkled with tears as he walked home, so it was hard to compare… But it was possible the paper had come from this pad. Very possible.

Maybe if he counted the pages? The front said there should be one hundred and fifty. No, people ripped pages from spirals all the time. He needed to get back to searching for the envelope. That would be real proof.

Neal dropped the notebook back into the drawer and went back to his search. No envelopes. Neal slammed the last drawer shut, tears rising up in his eyes. He hadn't wanted it to be Peter, obviously, but the lack of closure was driving him crazy.

Besides, he still didn't know for sure it wasn't Peter. His wife was a damn event planner, for God's sake. She probably had thousands of envelopes.

"Neal, what the hell are you doing?"

He jerked at the sound of Peter's voice, face going red. "I… I…" Neal shook his head, annoyed at himself for being too distressed to come up with a cover story.

"Seriously, what's going on?" Peter asked, looking worried. "You've been acting funny all night."

_I smiled at you today. I joked with you and laughed with you and treated you like a friend. I've even comforted you before._

Neal swallowed hard. "I'm okay, Peter," he said in a soft voice.

Peter raised his eyebrows, wearing his patented 'bullshit' face. "You don't seem okay. What are you doing in my study?"

"Nothing," Neal said, standing abruptly. "Nothing at all." He pushed past the man into the hall, practically sprinting back down the stairs.

"Are you okay, Neal?" El asked, worry in her sweet blue eyes, and Neal had an intense urge to wrap his arms around her and give her a big hug, but he couldn't. She could be part of it. It could be her envelope.

"I'm fine, Elizabeth," Neal said softly as he sat back down at his plate, though eating was the last thing he wanted to do. "I'm just fine—"

"Neal, what's this?"

Neal turned around, his eyes widening as Peter held up the note. Oh, God, he must have left it after he checked it against the notebook. Neal's face went a deep shade of red.

"I-It's nothing—"

"It's not nothing," Peter snapped as walked into the kitchen. "Who sent you this?"

Neal shrunk down in his seat, a wave of embarrassment washing over him. "I-I don't know."

"What is it, hon?" Elizabeth questioned.

"Don't," Neal started, but Peter was already handing her the paper.

"Oh my God," she said, eyes going wide. "This is horrible. Who in the world would send this?"

"You don't think I sent it, do you, Neal?" Peter's voice sounded so hurt.

Neal looked up, eyes filling with tears. "I… I just couldn't be sure, you know?"

Peter made a face like he'd just been punched in the gut, taking several deep breaths before responding. "I swear to you," he said quietly, "that it was not me. If I ever have something to say, I will say it to your face, you understand me?"

Neal nodded slowly, though the smallest tinge of doubt still tickled at the back of his mind.

_You'd never guess that I'm not your friend._

"You need to find out who did this," Elizabeth said firmly.

Peter gave a short nod. "Oh, I will."

"How?" Neal said with a bitter laugh. "Interrogate everyone in the office? I don't think that's going to work, Peter. Besides, I doubt this person is going to admit to it."

Especially if the person actually was Peter Burke himself.

"I was thinking something more along the lines of dusting for fingerprints," Peter said, holding the paper up to the light. "It's pretty tattered, but I bet we can at least get a partial, and every agent in the building has been fingerprinted."

Neal's spirit lifted ever so slightly at the words. It still sucked that someone hated him so much, but at least he would know who it was. And at least he knew for sure now that it wasn't Peter.

"Has anyone but you, me, and El touched it?" Peter asked.

Neal shook his head. "No."

"Alright then," Peter said, nodding. "Tomorrow we'll find out who our anonymous little penpal is."

o o o

Neal's shoulders tightened as Peter came to a stop in front of his desk. He looked up slowly, swallowing hard at the look on Peter's face.

"Did you… Did you get the results back?" Neal asked in a small voice, eyes flitting around the room as he wondered which of these agents that he smiled with and laughed with and joked with was no friend at all.

"I did," Peter said, crossing his arms over the chest. "We actually got a full set."

"And?" Neal asked nervously.

"It was Henry Bakerton."

Neal blinked, brow furrowing up a little. "What?"

"Henry Bakerton," Peter repeated.

"Who the hell is Henry Bakerton?" Neal asked, more confused than ever.

Peter laughed, though it wasn't a happy sound. "Well, he used to be Organized Crime's new probie. Now he's working in the Cave where he belongs. Apparently Agent Bakerton wasn't very happy that we stole his glory on the Mayburn case and decided to get you back, kindergarten style."

Neal sat back, letting out a choked laugh as a huge weight was lifted off of him. All the tension, the sickness, the nerves, gone in an instant. "He didn't even know me," Neal said in disbelief.

"Yeah, I've found that people who write hate mail usually don't," Peter said with a shrug. "Hey, I'm sorry this happened to you, buddy." He reached out, probably to give Neal's shoulder a friendly squeeze, but Neal stood abruptly, wrapping the other man in a tight hug.

"I'm sorry I suspected you, Peter," he said in a tight voice. "That was wrong of me."

"I understand," Peter said as Neal released him. "But from now on you remember this. You mean way too much to me for stupid little notes." He flashed a grin. "Besides, if I get the chance to rag on the great Neal Caffrey, I'm damn well going to do it in public!"

Neal laughed with him, relishing the feeling of being able to take a little teasing without the sneaking suspicion that the words were more than they seemed. "Seriously, Peter, thank you. I would have gone crazy, worrying about who it was."

"No problem, buddy," Peter said. "I take care of my own."

The End


End file.
